


Whiskey and Wine

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Pre-White House (West Wing)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-04-10
Updated: 2002-04-10
Packaged: 2019-05-30 13:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15097634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of theWest Wing Fanfiction Central, a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in theannouncement post.





	Whiskey and Wine

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Whiskey and Wine**

**by:** Liza 

**Category:** Pre-White House, CJ/Toby

**Rating:** TEEN

**Author's Note:** Okay, this is part of a series within a series, titled Whiskey and Wine. The whole thing is based on different stanzas, in consecutive order, from the song "Picture", by Kid Rock and Sheryl Crow. They go as follows: A Slow Sort of Hell; Both of Them, Empty; Sawijika; Of Dreams and Fairy Tales; Life, Like This; and Whiskey and Wine. This little series within the series is a set of three West Wing stories, all that could be read independently but might be a little confusing if you decide to do just that. Also, these three stories are Pre-White House, back when Toby was still married to Andi, say days before the divorce papers. 

__I found your picture today,  
I swear I'll change my ways  
I just called to say "I want you,  
To come back home".  
I found your picture today,  
I swear I'll change my ways  
I just called to say "I want you,  
To come back home."

__

It shouldn't have surprised her, really, when thirteen years after she'd first met him and three days after he'd left her, he'd arrived at a political mixer with his wife. She was, after all, the perfectly devoted wife when in her own element, with her own kind, and she feared nothing so much as losing herself. And the Senate run she was about to make was as close to herself as she had come, for Toby was an accident, a mistake that shouldn't have happened, a marriage that was no longer convenient. She did not hesitate to inform him of these facts when he troubled her, because she knew that, despite all he was and would never be - could never be - he had loved her once, and to Toby, that made all the difference.

She, Claudia Jean Cregg, daughter of a public school principal and a Christian school teacher, sat at the bar alone drinking whiskey, watching Toby as he caught his wife's elbow and whispered something in her ear. He kissed her cheek and strode purposefully toward his best friend, or as she'd come to refer to herself 'the woman who used to be Toby Ziegler's best friend before she stupidly fucked him senseless'. 

"Give me the bottle," she informed the bartender, gesturing at the bottle she held, and he raised an eyebrow before handing her the whiskey bottle, and she forced a fifty dollar bill into his hand before nodding in Toby's direction. "If I asked you why you weren't with Andi, would you say it's because you don't want to be, or because she doesn't want you to be?" His expression was enough of an answer for her, and she continued after a slow swallow in a sort of drawl, "I'd offer you wine, but I've had my fill," she tilted the bottle towards him. "Moving on, Toby," she whispered with eyes full of equal parts anger, desperation, and resoluteness. "I'm moving on."

She shouldn't have been surprised, she laughed to herself, when his lids lowered over his eyes, and he stuffed his hands into his pockets and began rocking back and forth on his heels. He looked like a little boy, dressed up for Sunday School, sheepish and saddened by some minuscule sin he'd committed for which he was afraid to ask for absolution, forgiveness. She watched him over the bottle as she righted it, bubbles sliding to the top. And she watched him as he sat.

He'd been her best friend for so long that she wondered how they'd made it, how they'd made each other. And they had been as much a part in the molding and making of each other as they had themselves.

Somewhere along the way, she'd found time to attend catechism, and she'd become a Catholic. And somewhere along the way, she'd failed to attend Confession again and again, until finally she never went.

She confessed to her cat instead, cried herself to sleep, and clutched her rosary as she did her Hail Mary's each morning, working toward a heaven she didn't believe in and a purgatory she didn't deserve.

And she watched him as he pried one hand from the bottle and covered it with his as he held it over his heart.

Forgiveness?

"Don't," she thought she might've murmured, "Just don't. Don't say things you don't mean and don't promise me things you can't promise, and don't offer me perfection and beauty and your head on a platter, and all the things I don't deserve. And don't tell me I deserve the things I don't, because it's not enough and it can never be enough, because you have Andi and you have me and I have no one. No one, Toby. I don't even have you anymore, so don't tell me I deserve all the things I want because I can't hear it from you, because it's not enough and you can't be enough for me anymore, your words can't be enough. So just. don't say anything at all." And she'd torn her hand away as he fluttered his over his heart. She gulped down the whiskey as if it were air, then swallowed, blinking back the tears that burned at her eyes. "Just don't."

And he didn't.

_I just called to say, "I love you,_  
Come back home."  



End file.
